Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 75107 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75107 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
“Come for me,” I demanded, feeling her tighten around me.
Then she did, crying out my name as she did.
This time, she took me with her.
I held her for a long couple of minutes afterward before slowly slipping away.
“Where are you going?”
“To draw you a bath.”
She shot me a curious look, but said nothing.
Alone in the bathroom, I cleaned up, then ran the water to get warm, and leaned against the closed door, taking a slow, deep breath.
Because in those moments after we both came, there’d been a strange-as-fuck warm feeling moving through my chest.
And I needed a moment or two to try to figure out what the fuck that was about.
But when the water ran hot and I put the stopper in, I was no closer to understanding it.
It wasn’t until I went back into the bedroom to get Steph that the sensation intensified.
I had a feeling as I helped her into the bath and then carefully cleaned her hands that there might be a different kind of danger that night.
One that didn’t involve bullets and bad guys.
But my own fucking heart.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Stephanie
Once Venezio cleaned up my hands and treated the cut on my cheek from scraping the picture frame back in my apartment, he ducked out of the bathroom under the premise of looking for clothes.
But he was gone way too long for that.
Maybe he just needed a minute.
As soon as I was alone, I realized I did too.
I found that some parts of the night had grown sharper while others faded around the edges.
I distinctly remembered running into the park, the sharpness of the cold, and the coiled sensation of fear.
But other parts, like falling, like Venezio getting me in a cab, like the whole bit about getting to and inside the safe house, that was all really fuzzy.
I knew more about hypothermia than the average person. People who had spent cold winter nights on the street had to be aware of the risks, of the progression of symptoms.
It was entirely possible that I’d been in and out of consciousness between the cab ride and the safe house.
It wasn’t until Venezio and I were skin-to-skin under the blankets and the pinpricks of circulation assaulted every inch of my body, that I fully came back to myself.
Alone in the tub, I wasn’t surprised that things had gone from life-or-death to sex.
We’d been pressed close, mostly naked, both traumatized by the events of the night and needing comfort.
Besides, I believed him.
Maybe that was naive of me, but I did.
Yes, he was lying to me. Yes, he was using my organization. But, no, he hadn’t used me. He hadn’t used my feelings and desires against me. He’d been just as blindsided by that connection as I had been.
Was it smart of me to have sex with a man I now knew was in the mob? Who’d actually killed people?
Maybe not.
That said, when he’d told me he hadn’t killed the man who wanted to hurt me, I’d been… disappointed. I would have been completely okay with him having lost his life for what he’d done. If I’d had a gun, I knew down to my bones that I wouldn’t have hesitated to use it.
So why would I judge him for doing so in the past when it had been other life-or-death situations?
And, well, I hadn’t been an angel. Especially when my mom and I had been on the streets and struggling. I’d stolen things. I’d done whatever I needed to do to eat, to survive.
I knew that there were a lot of decent people who did objectively bad things. I understood that there were a thousand reasons to resort to a life of crime.
Everything about Venezio hinted at a hard upbringing. Which might have left him with precious few choices. Crime paid. It often paid well. And it didn’t require good grades or debilitating tuition debt. If he’d been trying to get out of an awful situation, he would reach for whatever was quick, whatever was easy.
Then, well, once you were in that life, it was hard to get out. Especially if he was in the mafia. That was a “for life” kind of thing.
There was a soft rap at the door.
“Need help drying off?” he called.
Did my belly flutter?
Yes, yes, it did.
I wanted to tell him no, that I could do it myself, but my hands were slick with antibiotic ointment.
“Uh, yeah,” I called, reaching out with my toe to drain the tub.
“Started to worry you’d drowned in here,” he said, grabbing me under the arms and pulling me to my feet in the little shower/tub combo.
There were little duck anti-slip stickers beneath my feet and a crack in the white tile to my side as Venezio grabbed a towel and started to dry me off.
It was not a sensual touch.
But I still somehow felt desire sparking once again.